Breathing the Glass
by Feather Ice
Summary: He wanted pain for what happened and what could hurt worse than taking all the sharp things inside, straining for them like the desperate addict? Worse though, was the reason he craved the glass inside him, the reason why he needed to be torn apart...


Points of Interest: Drabble, contains slash, written of an obscure manga that most of you have probably never read. Confusing, but each phrase has specific meaning worth noting.

Breathing Glass

Seishirou-san was made of glass in Subaru's eyes. He can see that now, when he thinks about it. Twisted and illusory. He could see in him whatever he wanted to see with just as much ease as it took to look. And he saw beautiful things therein, amidst the plays of light and dark. He craved and enjoyed them, and was secretly dizzy from his good fortune—his world composed of two of the most beautiful people he had ever known. It was too beautiful to be real, too easy, and it wouldn't fool him for a heartbeat now that he was older and wiser. It had barely fooled him before; that was part of why he'd been so terrified to touch. Glass was fragile and quickly broken, even glass images. He'd figured out that such beautiful glass surely must conceal a few imperfections, but he'd misinterpreted the reason. He'd been so sure that Seishirou was protecting himself, not sparing Subaru…

Obviously he was wrong.

The fragile layer of glass broke and it revealed something nightmarish encased inside. Again and again Subaru berated himself as he looked at the pieces. How could he have missed it? How could he have been so blind? As Seishirou cheerfully ruined everything Subaru held dear, he didn't even blame the man. He blamed himself. Everything that befell him was a result of his own stupidity—a thought that never left him alone. He was surrounded by his mistakes and failures and shards of broken, beautiful glass. He breathed it in, forcing himself to tunnel into the misery because he deserved it for what he'd allowed to happen. Blades of glass cut at his chest and his heart roughly, every dragged breath making him want to cry. Everything inside of him had to be a mass of scar tissue at this point. The innocent child Seishirou thought he might love, on whatever whim, was so far gone that his own grandmother couldn't recognize him.

The worst part was that even now, even now that he knew everything, the glass lying around his feet was still immaculately beautiful. He couldn't numb himself to the pain entirely because it wasn't all pain. Sometimes it was like that shell of glass reformed and he was gazing once more at some beautiful image. A mirage, a memory, a jewel. A stolen moment of the three of them together, or the two of them alone, doing the most simple, silly things, going on dates, or maybe on exorcisms. It didn't matter if they were together, because he couldn't help but love every second. He'd smile and laugh and shake his head and then suddenly he'd remember. Once more the glass would break and he'd be breathing it in, choking and gasping. His body begged for clean air, but he'd have none of it. This was his fate. Not to be some great onmyoji. Just to be a wretched failure.

Finding someone so similar to himself was a shock. Perhaps he and Hokuto were more alike genetically, but in their situations, Kamui and himself might as well be twins. The three friends, bonded for what felt like forever. The loss of the girl he loved and wanted to protect. The sudden betrayal by a man who became something worse than a stranger and asked for things that he could not give. The pain of affection and love, frayed and twisted beyond all belief. The coldness of isolation. The way everything went so, so wrong, beyond any hope of repair. Helplessness. Fear. Confusion. Above all else, the pervading cry of sorrow. Yes, Kamui might as well be him. He was pretty sure his younger friend spent his days breathing glass razorblades. The only real difference was that Fuuma hadn't changed on purpose—Kamui at least seemed to believe this—and that Kamui had Subaru.

Fat lot of good that would do him.

If Subaru ever learned the secret to fixing things, Kamui would be the first person on his list to tell. But his life was just as horrible, maybe even more so, because Subaru's hurt was old and festering—Kamui hadn't bled out yet; he was still sort of staring at the gaping hole where his heart should have been and saying, "what?" Or maybe that made it better. He didn't know. For all his seniority, he hadn't the faintest clue of what to do. Kamui handled the situation far better anyway, Subaru had noted. The best he personally could do was hover silently and offer whatever help he could give whenever Kamui would accept it. Warn him about the dumber decisions. That sort of thing. But not even that would really matter, because, just like Subaru, Kamui would throw away good advice and common sense because he couldn't stop caring about Fuuma.

Once or twice, when he was bored and had nothing better to do, Subaru fantasized of a different sort of comfort he could offer. He and Kamui understood each other like no one else; it wouldn't be hard. They could curl up with each other, curl into each other, and block out everything else just licking each other's wounds. They'd fade away and it would be so easy and so comfortable and natural, really. Kamui was attractive in a lovely way, and Subaru had already come to the conclusion that he was a little bit in love with him. He wanted to be the one to put his arms around him whenever he broke down and cried, and wanted to look into the eyes of someone who just understood, and clinging to any old person wasn't OK, but Kamui was because he was _Kamui_. Finally, amidst all the glass, there would be a little peace.

Until they broke each other all over again, because sooner or later, no matter how hard either of them tried, Kamui would throw Subaru away for his tormenter. And if Kamui didn't do it, then Subaru would. Love was impossible with the addictive obsession that consumed them. A bond stronger than love, because it carried with it hatred, fear, and misery. Because it was everything to them both. And they'd go right back to breathing glass, but with one less support.

The feeling of it had consumed Subaru already. He wasn't even sure if he could give up Seishirou-san, even in passing, because he'd probably just die if he did. Breathing in glass was the only thing he had anymore. He'd stayed alive purely out of spite, purely because he was very concerned with how dying before scum like Seishirou-san definitely wasn't the way to go. The glass was there as a bizarre consolation. If he stopped sticking the pretty little daggers down his throat, what did he have? A life he abandoned, that managed to hurt worse than all the glass in the world. A new life that revolved utterly around his enemy. Oh that was great. Really smart too.

But dying he could handle. And being alone, well, he'd been handling that. And even living, even going back to a "happy" life; he could deal with it, at least for a while. What he absolutely couldn't abide was even now that the monster inside of the glass had been released, he still didn't see a monster. Never. Not even once. It was a secret he didn't dare tell, or even admit to himself, because it was just so horrible. But even with Hokuto's blood dripping down his fingers, Subaru couldn't think… Couldn't even admit that Seishirou-san was a monster. Oh, he hated him. Hated him with all his heart.

But he loved him even more.

In those rare moments when they didn't fight, the glass reformed, and he could see his Seishirou-san, smiling and teasing him. When they did fight Subaru did his best, but he always ended up pulling his punches, and that was not good enough for Seishirou-san. So naturally, Seishirou-san should finish what he started, his assassination, except, possibly seeing Subaru's longing for death, he left him alive every time. And then there were the moments in between, where Subaru hated Seishirou-san the very most, when Seishirou-san put his arms around him and pressed his mouth against his in a private, stifled war. Where he made a mockery of the feelings he'd won from Subaru but Subaru had failed to steal from him, in some pseudo-romantic gesture, refusing to leave until Subaru pushed him off in earnest. It was later every time, and he knew it, and Subaru knew it, and at those moments, he really was angry enough to kill him. But only if he could stop loving him for one damn second, and that didn't seem to be forthcoming.

And then there were the moments when they were not at peace or at war or anything in between. Rare, immortal moments, when the contest was at a standstill and as Subaru shuffled from one mundane task to the next, he saw Seishirou-san behaving similarly. He would sneak after him out of curiosity or habit, and just watch. Even if he knew that Seishirou-san would murder anyone he spoke to in a heartbeat, he still watched the easy smile and the familiar gait and all he could see was beautiful glass. It remained beautiful and frozen in his mind until the next battle, where it broke apart all over again, and Subaru could go back to what he did best, breathing it in.

The truth was just that Seishirou-san was, to Subaru, made of glass. But even now he'd found nothing inside of it. Even now, he told himself otherwise, but he was starting to see the truth. There was a monster in the glass, but it wasn't Seishirou-san. The only thing that shaped and colored that glass was his own reflection. That was what had come tearing out the day everything shattered.

Breathing in that sort of pain befitted a monster like Subaru.


End file.
